


Pilot Jones

by indigentsalt



Series: Channels [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drugs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 07:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigentsalt/pseuds/indigentsalt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short stories based on Channel Orange by Frank Ocean.</p><p>Stiles accidentally exposes Derek to a foreign plant with some strange side-effects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pilot Jones

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer I know nothing about either biology or hydroplaning.

“Hey Stiles, how’s it-” The crash of glass stopped Scott, who frowned as a petri dish shattered on the linoleum floor. Stiles had whipped around, eyes wide.

“Jesus Scott, don’t scare me like that!” he exclaimed. “I know you’re a silent killer and all, but can you try to kill me in a cooler way than a heart attack?” the teenager added grumpily. Scott grinned.

“Sorry man. I’ll make more noise next time.” Then he glanced pointedly at Stiles’ laptop, which was perched on the table next to him. “But only if you turn down the Taylor Swift,” he added. Stiles scowled and hit pause on his computer, the music stopping abruptly. “Was there anything in that dish?” Scott asked. Stiles glanced down and shook his head, scratching his nose.

“Fortunately, not yet,” he replied. “Feel like doing me a solid and cleaning it up for me? Since it’s your fault?” he added, pointing to the broom and dustpan hanging on hooks in the corner of the laboratory.  He was already reaching into a cabinet for a new one. “Also, put on a mask, would you? The essence is pretty strong and I’m about to open it,” Stiles added, gesturing to a thick, capped test-tube about three quarters filled with a violently blue liquid. Scott glanced at it and shuddered as he made for the broom. He knew where the surgical masks were, because he’d worked for Deaton for a lot longer than Stiles. It was only Stiles’ first summer. The werewolf strapped on the mask and grabbed the broom.

Stiles watched his best friend attentively as he unscrewed the concentrated wolfsbane, wishing he had a stopwatch to time how long it was before Scott’s face screwed up and his ears, now pointed, went flat in distaste. He couldn’t see Scott’s mouth, but he knew the other teen would be baring his teeth under the mask.

“Let’s all have a moment of silence for Scott’s wolf beard,” Stiles announced as he opened a plastic case and, using long tweezers, pulled a long, dark hair out of it and placed it into the petri dish, then slipped it under his microscope. Scott scowled and avoided looking at the experiment. After focusing the microscope, Stiles used an eyedropper to transfer a few drops of wolfsbane into the dish, pressing his eye to the eyepiece. Scott paused to watch him as Stiles’ mouth tightened. Then he pulled away and jotted down a few words on a piece of paper beside him. When he removed the dish and put it on the table, Scott couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the hair, which he’d plucked from his chin the night before during the full moon. From thick and deep brown, it had broken into brittle, silver pieces. But the smell of the wolfsbane was making his nose itch, so Scott finished sweeping and dumped the bits of broken petri dish into the rubbish bin.

Stiles meanwhile capped the wolfsbane tube and removed a few of the pieces of hair with tweezers, leaving them to dry under a hot light. Then he cleaned out the dish. When Scott’s senses relaxed, he took off his max.

“What trial are you on?” he asked. Stiles shook his head as he removed a hair from a different box. This one was a human one, that he’d gleefully removed from Scott’s leg the day before.

“First one,” he answered as he laid it in a new petri dish. Scott frowned.

“You’ve been here all morning,” he protested. Stiles nodded distractedly as he examined it under the microscope, then removed it.

“Deaton makes me do my reading in the morning,” he said, pointing without looking at counter near the door, where two enormous, ancient looking tomes were piled. Scott winced at the thought. At least he was enjoying his summer.

“Whadja find out?” Scott wanted to know. Satisfied with the human hair, Stiles returned to the brittle wolf hairs and got down the spinning machine from a cabinet. Scott watched him as he set up the DNA experiment.

“I got the name of one herb that I want to look at,” he said, raising his voice over the sound of the motor, which was spinning out Scott’s wolf DNA. Scott brightened immediately.

“Really?” he asked.

“Don’t get too excited,” Stiles warned him. “I have to get it from Sweden.”

“Oh,” Scott sighed.

“And I’ve got to talk to Lydia about another one that I found, these French names are killing me,” he muttered, shaking his head. “But if it turns out to be what I want, I’ll be able to get it from Washington.” Scott nodded, trying not to get too excited. The DNA spinning machine whirled to a halt and Stiles extracted the filmy length that was essence of Scott.

“Man,” he said, “You and your mom look so alike.”

“Very funny,” Scott replied, but he was smiling. Stiles removed the DNA to the microscope and focused the lenses as Scott watched him.

“Scott, your genes are nutso,” he remarked casually, face still pressed against the eyepiece. “ I mean I’m no expert-”

“We know,”

“ _But_ your genes in this hair are all of about 15 percent human. Fascinating.” Scott quirked a smile.

“I’m glad you find me scientifically intriguing.” He leaned against his broom, watching Stiles attach a cord from his computer to the microphone. A large image of Scott’s DNA appeared on Stiles’ screen and Stiles saved it to a folder on his desktop. Then  he pulled up another image, which was an image he’d already taken that morning, of the DNA of one of Scott’s wolf hairs, undamaged by wolfsbane. Scott approached to look over Stiles shoulder, and the two boys stared at the two images for a long moment. “What does that mean?” Scott asked. Stiles folded his arms over his chest.

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “It definitely targets your lupine genes, because you can see that the human parts of your DNA-” Stiles pointed to a number of solid, repeated steps in the double helix of Scott’s mixed DNA “-remain pretty much unaffected. So it could be that wolfsbane is a mutator, that it changes your wolf genes, but I don’t think so.” There was a pregnant pause.

“So what _do_ you think?” Scott pressed.

“I think that wolfsbane disintegrates them.” Stiles said. Scott took a second to think about this and failed.

“So what does that mean?”

“It means that you’re left with 15% of your DNA structure. I’m sure you remember _some_ part of ninth grade biology. DNA is basically the instructions for how your body works. What we can see from the full structure is that when you’re wolfed out, 85% of your body is running on wolf instructions. You grow hair like a wolf, your ears work like a wolf’s-”

“Yeah, I know that Stiles,” Scott said impatiently. “But what does it mean if I only have 15% of my DNA?” Stiles shrugged.

“It means your body only functions at 15%.” Scott looked at him. “Think of how you are during the full moon. You hear, see, smell, taste and touch like a wolf, so you know your wolf DNA is controlling your senses. Your core body temperature rises like a wolf’s, so it’s wolf DNA that’s making your blood pump the way it does. So we have to consider what parts of you are still human. Maybe it’s your emotional center. What does Derek say,  owning your wolf?”

“Controlling it,” Scott muttered.

“But maybe not. Maybe all that’s running like a human is your liver. Who really knows?”

“Are you saying 15% of my DNA is focused on my liver?” Scott asked.

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Scott, of course not, but we could find out if you wanted. See if your liver’s a wereliver.” Stiles was grinning, and Scott’s eyes narrowed.

“How?”

“Get you drunk on the full moon,” Stiles said, laughing. Scott cringed at the thought.

“Get back to work,” he scolded gently, hanging the broom and dustpan up again, and left the room.

\------

Stiles rubbed his hands vigorously, and Deaton eyed him skeptically.

“What, one year in LA and you already can’t tolerate the Beacon Hills weather?” he asked. Stiles scowled.

“One becomes accustomed,” he sniffed, but he jammed his hands into the pockets of his navy zip up hoodie, with UCLA emblazoned in gold on the chest. “Besides, if I’d have known that Scott was going to be three hours late, I would have dressed for it like you did,” he added, nodding to Deaton’s own leather jacket. Deaton gave a one-sided smile.

“Late while human, late while wolf,” replied the vet. They waited another twenty minutes in the middle of the woods, the clock ticking past 3 AM, before crashing in the brush made them turn their right. Scott burst over a log into the clearing and rose to two legs, his wolf features softening as he saw them.

“Sorry, I couldn’t-” Stiles frowned, but then he realized he could hear more noise, and another shape followed Scott’s same path. Derek Hale unfolded himself from wolf shape to stand beside Scott and scowl menacingly at Stiles and Deaton.

“Tell me what you’re doing,” he demanded at once. Stiles glanced at Deaton, who met Derek’s eyes steadily.

“Ask him,” he said easily, gesturing to Scott.

“I did,” Derek growled. Stiles noticed that his eyes were still sort of red. “And he tells me you’re looking for a cure.” Stiles fidgeted. Scott looked like a misbehaving five year old.

“That’s it,” Deaton said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “Is there a problem?” Derek bristled.

“It’s not _natural_ Deaton,” he said. Stiles couldn’t help but snort, because since when was any of this _natural_ , but when Derek turned his glare on him, he looked down and silenced himself. “Besides, this is my territory. You have no right to do any of that kind of thing on the whims of an _omega_.” Stiles glanced at Scott, whose fists were clenched.

“I can do what I please in my own veterinary practice, Derek, I’ll remind you that. Just because you happen to be the big bad wolf in the area doesn’t mean you’re king of the land.” Deaton said cooly. Stiles wanted to give the man a hug, standing up to Derek Hale like that. Derek’s fangs grew out of his gums.

“Only because you’ve built that practice in mountain ash,” he retorted. Deaton sighed.

“Derek, we’re not enemies. Your mother was a dear friend of mine.” Derek looked away. “What do you have against this?” Derek was scowling even more than usual. Stiles wanted to tell him his face might stick like that, but he didn’t think the night of the full moon was the right time for that kind of comment.

“I told you. It’s not natural.” He glanced at Scott. “This is what he is. Fighting with what you are isn’t safe. It’s not healthy.” Scott looked away, and Stiles considered this for the first time. “Some of us like this way of life,” he added defensively. Deaton smiled wryly.

“Derek, this isn’t X-Men. I would never try to take this away from you, even on the very small chance we _did_ find a cure.” Derek made a skeptical face. “This is for Scott and Scott alone.” Derek shifted uncomfortably.

“You’re lucky you’re the one person I would ever trust on that,” he grumbled, and then turned his suspicious gaze again on Stiles, who put his hands up in innocence.

“Look, you terrorize me just as much while human as you do while wolf, so it’s not like I have anything to gain from slipping it to you,” he pointed out, and at this, Derek actually _grinned_. It disappeared from his face as soon as he turned to Deaton.

“I’ll be watching. Any funny business and I swear I’ll destroy the whole place,” he threatened. Then he turned into a wolf and scampered away into the shrubbery. Deaton shook his head and Scott stood up straighter, as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders.

“Let’s get them hairs then,” Stiles said, removing plastic containers from his bag and approaching his best friend. As Deaton waited, Scott removed a few of his own hairs without flinching and dropped them into the box. Then, Stiles slowly opened his bag to slip the box in and winked at Scott. Scott glanced into the bag and groaned.

“No!” he announced. “This is science!” Snorting, Stiles quickly covered up the bottle of Jack he’d taken from his dad.

“Let’s see the collar then,” he said, still chuckling to himself, and held up his hands. Scott made a face, his irises shifting.

“I... I’ll do it,” he blurted out, and turned away from Stiles. He reached up to his own neck and fiddled with the leather collar Stiles had fastened around his neck earlier that evening, taking forever to get the strap out. When he finally did, he handed the collar, with the camera screwed to it, gingerly to Stiles, who put it in his bag as well. Still puzzled, he backed off to where Deaton stood.

“I’ll see you later,” Scott said, fell to all fours and dashed off. Stiles looked at Deaton after Scott had disappeared out of earshot.

“He won’t bear his neck to you,” Deaton explained. “He can do it as a human but not while he’s changed.” Stiles frowned, and the two of them set out from the woods.

\------

Stiles had come home from his freshman year at UCLA in mid-June, and almost as soon as he had, Scott had confessed that he had started looking for a cure. It was killing him, he said. Lying to his friends, his roommate, the on-and-off relationship with Allison, his distancing from his mother. It was all because of the bite, and he was sick of it. He didn’t know if there was a cure, and he had already resigned himself to a life of being a horror story, but he wanted to look. Stiles, who was a recently declared chemistry major, was the obvious person to help him look. It had been Stiles’ idea to ask Dr. Deaton for help, who had happily and kindly allowed them to use his laboratory at the office, under the condition that they let him assist and share the results. They had been just as happy to say yes, especially when Deaton added that he could probably get Stiles an internship credit for school.

Stiles had been spending eight hours a day at the practice ever since then. He spent his mornings poring through old books that Deaton got from god knew where. Some were books of herb lore, some were books on plant life, some were old bestiaries with different information on werewolves and how to get rid of them. At the beginning, Stiles had had very little luck finding new plants to try, so he and Deaton had started experimenting with wolfsbane. Stiles was now growing a patch on the roof of the practice in a green house Scott had built for him.

He spent his nights doing what any good teenager home for the summer does, hanging out with Scott, playing video games, and trying to meet girls. He’d given up on Lydia Martin, though not without difficulty, when she’d gone off to Stanford with Jackson. That was about as done a deal as it got. They were friends now, sort of, especially when Stiles brought her ancient tomes to look through. She was a remarkable source of information and ancient languages, and she’d already helped him through two books in Latin and one in ancient Greek.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to decipher the latest book Deaton had thrown his way, one borrowed apparently from the University of Hong Kong, which was written in ancient Chinese characters. Stiles had taken the book back to LA and sat around impatiently, waiting for one of the professors to look through it (encouraged by a hefty wad of cash that Deaton had procured from Stiles didn’t even want to know where).

It was the first week of August by the time Stiles had what he was looking for. The book had been an encyclopedia of local herbs used against the dark forces by tribes in the Himalayan mountains, transcribed in the early 1600s by a passing Chinese monk. When Stiles had discovered among the many illustrations one of a naked sleeping man, half changed from a wolf, Stiles had marked the chapter for the professor to translate.

He’d been right.

The heights of the Himalayas were not a place where wolfsbane grew easily, so Stiles had figured that any plants encountered used against werewolves had to be unique.

He had had to use quite a bit of money again to _get_ the plant from the mountains, where it was known to grow in abundance, but nowhere else. Deaton seemed to have invested himself quite heavily in the project, so he was sponsoring the whole thing. And finally, _finally_ , Stiles had it. The translator had left a note that he had never seen the characters before, but they looked to translate to something like ‘wolf-sleeper’. Stiles wasn’t sure that this herb would ‘cure’ Scott of his werewolf genes,  but from the picture and passage that he’d seen, it looked like it at least would make him docile during the full moon, and actually keep him human, as long as he remained asleep.

Now Stiles was driving back from LA, having gone directly to a private airfield to receive the shipment of wolf-sleeper. They had one night left the full moon to try it out on Scott before they had to wait a whole other moon cycle, so Stiles had sucked it up and gone that night. The plane had come in late. It was already one in the morning, and it was raining, so Stiles was blasting music to stay awake and squinting to see through the murky air.

He was within half an hour of home when a shape burst in front of his headlights. Stiles yelped and slammed his foot down on the brake. He hydroplaned and the Jeep rotated a good thirty degrees before he released the brake. He probably would have kept going if whatever had startled him hadn’t run out beside the car and slammed into it, stopping it from slamming into a roadside tree.

Stiles was panting with terror as the Jeep shuddered to a halt, and he jammed on the emergency brake and threw himself out of it, into the rain.

“Scott?” he yelled, knowing that no normal animal would stop him from going off the road. The rain was soaking him and he put his hood  up. “Scott!” He rounded the car, but the shape that peered up at him was not Scott, but Derek. “Jesus Christ Derek, what the fuck are you doing?” he demanded loudly. Derek growled at him.

“I’m running in my damn territory, Stilinski, what the fuck are you doing?” Stiles had no answer. He hadn’t seen Derek once since their meeting in the woods earlier that summer. Scott hadn’t said anything about him either. He didn’t want to push his luck that night by telling Derek he might have found something.

“Just... Just coming back from LA.” he muttered.

“In this weather?” Derek asked skeptically. Stiles shrugged. Derek got up from his crouch.

“You want a ride?” Stiles blurted out without thinking. Derek had burst from the trees in the direction going towards Beacon Hills. Derek raised a brow, and Stiles remembered that fuck it, he was a werewolf. He winced, feeling dumb. But to his surprise, Derek shook the water out of his hair and nodded. Stiles rounded the car to the driver’s side and opened the door, unlocking the other side. “Watch the package,” Stiles added as Derek climbed in. Derek lifted the undecorated brown box in to his lap and sat down, dripping water onto Stiles’ seat. _Shouldn’t’ve offered,_ he thought ruefully. “Your place?” he added. Derek nodded.

Stiles carefully put the car in drive and eased them out of the shoulder and onto the road, slowing down considerably.

“I didn’t hurt you running into you like that, did I?” he asked. He saw Derek shrug from the corner of his eye.

“I’ve had worse,” he answered casually. They fell into silence until Stiles heard a peculiar sound and took advantage of a stop sign to glance over. The sound was Derek sniffing, and he had his nose pressed up against the brown box. _Oh shit_ , Stiles thought.

“Derek-” he began, reaching out a hand. He had no idea yet what this herb was actually going to do. What did docility even mean? But Derek swatted his hand away, still sniffing like a curious dog. He reached out a clawed hand to slit the top open. “Derek, really I-” But Derek tore the box open, cutting Stiles off in surprise. A horn honked behind him, making him jump, and Stiles turned his eyes to the road, moving forward and trying to keep an eye on Derek at the same time.

He heard rustling as Derek pawed through some Chinese newspaper and lifted out a couple, dark green leaves that looked wilted, but even Stiles smelled some of their smell. “Derek be careful with that,” Stiles said, trying to sound brave. Derek didn’t answer, but the sniffing sounds just got even louder and more frequent. Stiles wished he could pull over, because glancing every two seconds at his passenger seat while on a dark road in the rain was definitely not one of his better ideas. He cringed when he heard a ridiculously long inhale. Was Derek getting high or something? Clearly wolf-sleeper didn’t have a _negative_ effect on werewolves, which was good, but it didn’t exactly seem to be doing what Stiles wanted it to do.

And then, of all things, Derek began giggling. Stiles forced himself to keep his eyes on the road as the _grown ass man_ in his car began whuffling and chuckling at the same time. The newspaper that was wrapped around the wolf-sleeper was rustling loudly. “Derek please, I paid good money for that stuff!” He turned onto Derek’s road and pressed on the gas, pulling into his driveway in a spray of water. As soon as he got near the house, he parked the car and turned on the light so he could look at his new test subject, who was still making those awful noises.

Derek was rubbing the herb, which looked like dried, soft seaweed, over his face with the goofiest of grins on his stubbly chin. Stiles was horrified.

“Give me that!” he demanded, snatching the wolf-sleeper from Derek’s hands. He was shocked to actually _get_ it, since Derek’s wolf reflexes were usually too much of a match for him. Derek seemed surprised too, though it took him a second of scratching his face with his own fingers to realize he no longer had the herb in his hand. Then he looked at Stiles with puzzled eyes. That was it.

Stiles leapt from the car, slamming the door behind him. “Come get it!” he said to Derek, waving the wolf-sleeper in front of the window, which Derek now had his face pressed against. “You want it? C’mere boy!” he tempted, realizing how absolutely batshit insane it was to taunt a werewolf like a puppy, especially on the full moon. But Derek grinned hugely, fangs and red eyes showing, and tried to jump at Stiles. He hit the window and as Stiles simultaneously yelped and burst into laughter, Derek struggled with the handle on the door. At last he tumbled out, then crouched on all fours, examining Stiles with bright eyes. _Shit._ He hadn’t thought that far ahead. He glanced over his shoulder, then started backing up towards the Hale house.

“C’mon! You want it?” Derek crept slowly towards him, step for step, until Stiles reached the porch stairs. He turned and bolted up them where the creaky old door swung open for him. He made two steps before Derek crashed into his back and knocked him down. Instinctively protecting the wolf-sleeper, Stiles tucked his arm under his stomach, tensing. Derek had him pinned with one knee on the small of his back.

“All right, Derek, let’s calm down,” he tried to say, voice muffled by the hardwood floor, which still reeked of smoke. It was making Stiles nauseous. He could feel Derek’s powerful hands, claws attached, pawing at his back, and shivers racked his shoulders. He could feel the hair stand up on his arms as Derek’s fingers brushed over the nape of his neck. “Wake up Derek,” he choked out. What kind of herb _was_ wolf-sleeper? Clearly it was closer to a recreational drug than a sleep aid. What a misleading name.

Suddenly, Stiles felt something that was distinctly _not_ Derek’s hand on the back of his neck. His eyes clenched shut as the werewolf sniffed at his hair animatedly, hot breath washing over his collar. His eyes flicked open in horror when suddenly he felt things get a lot less comfortable in his jeans. No. This was not happening. Derek Hale _sniffing_ him while intoxicated on some mystery wolf drug was absolutely positively _not_ giving him a boner.

“Derek!” he shouted miserably. Derek backed off, but only so he could paw at Stiles’ ribcage, attempting to reach under him and grab at his hand and the herb in it. Stiles tried to roll away, but Derek would have none of it. Finally, Stiles thought that Derek was going to let him go, but the werewolf only lifted his knee so that he could forcibly roll Stiles onto his side and grab at the wolf sleeper.

Finally, Stiles relented. The plant was crushed anyway. He’d have to beg Deaton for more money to order a new supply. He let it go, and Derek shoved his face into it once more, sniffing happily as he crouched on the floor. Stiles scrambled away, deciding that he’d have to make good use of this batch and examine Derek’s behavior. It was hard in the dark of the Hale house, but the moon was bright.

But in examining him, Stiles started to grin. He looked like an idiot, a huge, bearded sourwolf like him grinning over a plant. He flopped onto his back and began writhing excitedly, apparently scratching his back. Stiles snorted to himself. He wished Derek had left some so that he could try it out on Scott. And he wished he had a ball to toss for Derek to fetch with.

Stiles squinted as Derek began to move more actively, quicker. He was scratching at his bare skin, and soon he began struggling with his jacket. He seemed to have lost most of his human qualities and thought processes, which confused Stiles, because this was the _opposite_ of what he wanted wolf-sleeper to do. Finally, Derek managed to throw his jacket to the floor and then promptly remove his t-shirt, revealing his well muscled stomach and light skin. Abruptly, Stiles remembered the touch of Derek’s breath on his back, shivered, and couldn’t help but look south to where _would you look at that,_ Stiles thought dazedly, diverting his eyes from Derek’s own rather noticeable erection. This was definitely not a side-effect listed in the book. Clearly the Himalayan tribespeople had never stuck around enough to see werewolves get turned on.

Stiles swallowed and glanced at the door. Clearly now was the time to make an escape. He shifted towards the door, but Derek abruptly seemed to remember him. Stiles noted with interest that his eyes were no longer red, his fangs withdrawn, and his ears normal. But even though they weren’t in alpha mode, his eyes still didn’t seem exactly... Human.

“So I’m just gonna um...” he began, but Derek pounced, again. This time, he landed on Stiles’ front. “Jesus Derek!” he wheezed, the breath knocked out of him. But Derek did not appear to be listening, his face already tucked under Stiles’ chin, forcing him to expose his throat. For a moment, Stiles was gripped by the overwhelming fear that Derek was about to bite him, to change him. But somehow, he knew that Derek _wasn’t_ a werewolf just then. Instead, Derek was just sniffing Stiles’ throat.

“Look man, I’m sorry for accidentally slipping you wolf roofies bu...” his voice trailed off into a squeak as Derek’s nose switched with his tongue. Derek was licking his neck. Like with his tongue. Stiles shuddered hard under Derek’s grip; Derek’s teeth grazed over his Adam’s apple. “Derek,” he breathed once again, one last attempt, but it did no good. Derek had his forearms pinned to the floor and his knees planted on either side of Stiles’ thighs. Stiles swallowed hard when all of a sudden Derek shifted and-

“Oh my god, Derek, you are 100% humping me right now and I am 200% not okay with it!” he yelped offendedly. He was acting like a dog in heat and it would have been absolutely hilarious if Stiles weren’t the one on the receiving end of it. Stiles struggled wildly under Derek’s hold as the werewolf continuously rubbed his crotch against Stiles’s thigh, grunting unattractively each time. Stiles was sweating, and he knew his own erection was probably rather noticeable. “Derek!” he shouted again, but the werewolf took no notice. Until finally, Derek simply tumbled off him to the side.

Stiles leapt to his feet, then paused, worried that the wolf-sleeper had killed him. But no, his chest was rising and falling. He was actually _snoring_. The drug had simply knocked him out. No wonder it was called wolf-sleeper. And he still had a huge erection.

Averting his gaze, Stiles grabbed what was left of the wolf-sleeper and fled the house, wondering how on earth he was going to deal with his. Hopefully, Derek would just avoid him for the rest of the summer, which he’d been doing so well before.

\------

At least it hadn’t been a total disaster. Derek had left one of the packages of wolf-sleeper in the box, so Stiles had packed it away in an air-tight plastic container, which hopefully wouldn’t let off as much smell until he actually needed it to. He was packing the container into his backpack with his laptop when a voice interrupted him.

“What the _fuck_ did you give me last night Stilisnki?” Derek Hale was crouched in his window, looking _furious_. “What the hell did you do to me?”

“I didn’t do anything to you!” Stiles protested vigorously. It was really all Derek’s fault. “I had something in the car that you started sniffing at, which is pretty rude, by the way, to go around smelling someone’s scientific experiments like that!” Stiles was deflecting. Derek knew it.

“What was it? What did you give me?” he growled, low in his throat. Stiles kept expecting to see bared fangs and pointed ears, but Derek remained human.

“I don’t know yet! That’s why I got it. It’s something we’re going to try on Scott. You weren’t meant to get the first whiff,” Stiles said.

“What is it called? What does it look like?”

“Didn’t your house smell like it?” Stiles asked. Derek looked at him shrewdly.

“I didn’t smell anything. I didn’t even smell _you_.” Stiles’ eyes widened and he realized that Derek wasn’t just upset, he was _scared_.

“Derek, can you...” Stiles paused. He saw the tendons stiffen in Derek’s neck. “Can you change?” he asked quietly. Derek at once bared his teeth in a frightening expression, but his canines were only a little longer and more pointed than usual. Derek’s fingernails were the same, not quite long enough to really be sharp. Stiles met Derek’s eyes, swallowing hard. “That’s it?” he said quietly.

“It was less this morning. When I woke up, I couldn’t change at all,” he admitted. He rubbed the knuckles of one hand. “Whatever it is, it’s a temporary effect.” Stiles nodded dazedly. “Where is it from?” Derek asked him.

“The Himalayas,” Stiles answered. “Don’t worry, I’m the only person around who’s got any of it,” he added, realizing why Derek had asked. Derek nodded.

There was a long pause as Derek examined him, and Stiles felt his face flush with the events of the night before.

“Did I change while you were there?” Derek asked softly. Stiles chewed his lip.

“Not entirely. You had the eyes and the teeth and the claws but you didn’t...” Stiles swallowed. “You didn’t change fully. And then after a while you became human. Well, you looked human. You didn’t really...” He couldn’t meet Derek’s eyes. “Act human.” He scratched the back of his neck, his face hot, and he felt the vibration when Derek’s feet hit the hardwood floor. In a moment, Derek was standing toe to toe with him, and Stiles forced himself to look up at Derek.

“And when I attacked you. Was I wolf or human?” he asked, and Stiles was overwhelmingly conscious of the heat radiating from the werewolf’s body.

“H-human,” he stuttered out, turning his eyes away again, feeling Derek’s body on his again, a phantom hump.

“Did you know what was going to happen?” Derek asked, voice husky. Stiles shook his head minutely. “Look at me.” Stiles raised his head again. “It was the drug.” Stiles’ stomach coiled tightly. “Let’s not talk about it. Okay?” Stiles nodded. Derek backed away. “You better be careful, Stilinski.” Derek murmured, but his voice wasn’t threatening. “This experiment is going on with _my_ permission.” Stiles grimaced.

“As if I didn’t remember,” he muttered. Derek gave Stiles another stink-eye just to make sure the lesson had stuck, then left through the window. Stiles threw up his hands. “There’s no winning with you, is there?” he asked the empty air.

\------

“Allison I don’t really think this is a good idea,” Stiles said nervously, glancing at Scott. Allison folded her arms over her chest, looking obstinate for the sake of being obstinate.

“This has just as much to do with me as it does with him,” she said importantly, sounding haughty, but the way she looked at Scott as she said it softened her immensely.

“But this is a full moon just like any other,” Stiles reminded her. “I’m sure you don’t see each other when he’s at his harriest,” Stiles pointed out. Scott grimaced. Allison sighed.

“Well you’re going to be observing him, aren’t you?” Allison asked. That was one way to put it. Stiles had intended to spend most of the night watching Breaking Bad, assuming that Scott would be asleep after fifteen minutes, if Derek was anything to go by. “Can’t I just sit with you?” Stiles glanced at Scott, who gave a minute shake of the head. Stiles _really_ disliked arguing with Allison. He could never win.

“I just... Don’t...” She was glaring at him. Stiles glanced at Scott again, terror obvious in his face. “I mean it’s not going to be that _interesting_ , I’m not sure why you even want to...”

“Because if anything bad happens I want to be here,” Allison said, in her best ‘how much of an idiot are you Stiles?’ voice.

“Look, nothing bad will happen,” Stiles scoffed.

“And how do you know? You’d never even heard of this plant until last week!”

“Because-” They were both staring at him expectantly. Oh right. He hadn’t told anyone about the Derek incident. “Er, because the book said the plant wasn’t fatal!” He lied quickly. Allison looked skeptical.

“I don’t understand why I can’t just _watch_ ,” she repeated. Stiles sighed and looked at Scott again.

“This one’s on you buddy,” he informed his friend. He knew why Scott didn’t want Allison to watch. He was as self-conscious as a little girl when he turned. Even though Allison knew, even though Allison still (usually) loved him, he \ hated when she saw his ugliest form. And Stiles was not going to get into it again. “You guys figure it out. I’m going to go set up.”

Stiles slid between Scott and Allison to go to the front office of the practice. He went to his car and got his supplies: a big pillow, his laptop, the box of wolf-sleeper, and a tennis ball. He deliberately took way more time than necessary, checking his phone slowly while he waited for the couple to get their shit together. As he closed the door, he thought he saw a gleam in the window and squinted, then turned around and looked up, where the reflection would have come from, but there was nothing but the first couple stars in the last layers of the sunset.

When Stiles returned, he passed Allison on the way out, looking angry. “See you tomorrow!” he said brightly. “I’ll text you when you can come pick him up,” he added. Allison muttered something that was probably a threat of bodily harm as the door swung shut behind her. Scott was pouting in the hall. “In you go then,” said Stiles, juggling the items in his hand to get out the keys Deaton had given him. He opened the door for the werewolf, who slunk in.

“What’s with the pillow?” he asked in spite of his sullenness as Stiles dropped it on the floor. “And a tennis ball?” Stiles just shrugged.

“You know. Some uh... Props.” he answered evasively. Scott tilted his head, puzzled. Stiles went to the camera mounted behind glass in the wall. “Wolf-sleeper, take one. July thirtieth.” He said loudly. Then Stiles put the box of the herb on the floor, and he stared at Scott, watching as after a second, his nostrils flared. “See you!” Stiles blurted out, knowing what was going to come next, and fled the room. He locked it behind him and hurried to Deaton’s office, where the desktop was already running the image of the observation room. He crashed into the chair and watched interestedly as Scott began pawing as the box, attempting to open it without unfolding it like a normal human would. Eventually, the box ripped open, Scott buried his changed, wolf-like face int the herb.

It was mostly a repeat of the night before. Scott spent the first ten minutes wolfed out, playing with the drug. When he discovered the tennis ball, he was overjoyed, batting it across the floor. Stiles was crying from laughter. Slowly though, Scott’s activities slowed into lethargy, his nose resumed its human shape, and after another couple minutes, the teenager had collapsed on the pillow, curled up in a ball. He didn’t seem to be as... Sexually stimulated as Derek had been, and Stiles wondered whether there needed to be another person in the room to encourage that kind of behavior, if Derek was different because he was an alpha, or different because he was Derek...

 Stiles sat and watched for another twenty minutes to be sure, then crept into the hall and quietly opened the door to the observation room. Scott was snuffling in his sleep, hands and feet twitching like a dog’s. Stiles had to stifle his laughter.

He approached Scott, shook his shoulder gently. “Scott,” he murmured. Scott snuffled again. “Scott!” he repeated, louder this time, slapping his friend on the shoulder. Scott rolled over. It was not an inactive sleep, but he wasn’t waking up either. “Scott!” he shouted, shaking Scott with force. Scott pawed him away absently, but there were no claws in his errant hand. Satisfied, Stiles gave a thumbs up to the camera. Then he collected the fronds of wolf-sleeper that Scott had scattered around the room, gathering them back into the box. He didn’t think they lost potency, but he wasn’t sure. It would be something to check. He wiped his hands off on his trousers, because the herb was kind of oily (despite being dried, Stiles didn’t want to think too much about it), then left the room.

He took the box of wolf-sleeper to the lab to tuck it away in a vacuum-sealed container, then returned to the office. He was hooking his laptop up to Deaton’s ethernet to better stream Breaking Bad when a banging sound made him jump in his seat. Throwing a hand to his pounding heart, Stiles hurried to his feet and made for the front office. His concerned face sank into a wary frown when he saw Derek Hale scowling at him through the window to the door. He opened it.

“What, you’ll come in through my windows but not Deaton’s?” he asked.

“Your windows aren’t made of mountain ash,” Derek reminded him waspishly, brushing past Stiles and into the reception room. Stiles locked the door behind him. “You’re testing it on Scott, right?” he asked. Stiles nodded warily. “I want to see it.”

“You... Why?” asked Stiles.

“I want to be able to recognize the symptoms if anyone ever uses it against me,” Derek answered, eyes focused on Stiles. It actually made sense. Stiles was pretty sure he was the only one in North America with a dose of wolf-sleeper, but better safe than sorry, after all.

“He’s asleep already,” Stiles said with a shrug. Derek’s scowl deepened. “Buuuuut I guess I can show you the video,” he said with a sigh. “Come on.” He led the way back into Deaton’s office, shutting his laptop and opening a new window on Deaton’s computer. He could see Derek in the screen’s reflection, staring intently at a sleeping Scott (who was scratching the air with a hand, drool leaking attractively over his chin.) Stiles felt Derek’s weight settle on the back of his chair as he saved the video file and pulled it up to replay it from the beginning.

Derek sniffed a couple of times as Stiles worked.

“Got a cold?” Stiles asked absently, watching himself speak to the screen. Derek only responded with more inhaling noises, and Stiles frowned, turning his neck to look at Derek. At once, he leapt away, practically catapulting from the chair, because Derek had lowered his nose to sniff at Stiles’ collarbone.

“Damn it!” Stiles cursed, leaning against the desk. Derek shoved the chair out of the way, still looking human, but sniffing incessantly. Stiles remembered the oil from the plant, which he’d stupidly rubbed all over his clothes. “For fuck’s-” Stiles’ voice caught in his throat as Derek trapped him against the desk, rubbing his face over Stiles’ chest and moving south _fast_. All of a sudden, Derek was on his knees before him, eyes shut in what looked like an absurdly blissful expression, eagerly pressing his nose into Stiles’ thigh. “Oh god,” he breathed squeakily, his eyes turned to the ceiling. But he couldn’t _not_ look.

He glanced downward. Derek had his hands tight on Stiles’ hips, his usually furrowed brow smoothed, his hot breath penetrating the denim to raise the hair on Stiles’ thighs.

So sue him if he had maybe imagined this once or twice. You had to explore your masturbatory fantasies sometimes, the same old redhead could get boring sometimes. He’d never really thought seriously about it though when he _wasn’t_ in the throws of jacking himself off. And now, well, here he was...

All of a sudden, Derek’s inquisitive nose rubbed against Stiles’ suddenly apparent erection, the friction rushing up into his stomach and coiling there. Stiles let out a gasp and one hand flew to fist in Derek’s thick hair. “Derek,” he blurted out, before he could silence himself. He felt warm air surround the tip of his dick in his boxers.

Too soon, Derek turned his head, leaning up towards Stiles’ hand, his nose running up and down Stiles’ fingers, where he’d had the most contact with the plant. When Derek’s tongue traced between the spaces of his fingers, Stiles felt like he’d been hit in the back of the neck with a crowbar. This was way too much for his lanky virgin body to handle.

Suddenly though, Derek stopped, let go of him, and a loud thump followed. Stiles slowly opened his eyes, then let out a loud groan. Derek had collapsed on the floor, snoring, his hands curled up at his chest.

“Saved by narcolepsy,” he grumbled, but there was frustration and some longing in his face as he scowled the sleeping werewolf.

Stiles left the room to wash his hands thoroughly. There was nothing he could do about the residual smell on his jeans, but Derek had said that he couldn’t smell Stiles the time before, so maybe that would hold true. It was clear his werewolf senses, and Scott’s, would be dulled, maybe with enough time for Stiles to go home and wash his shirt and jeans.

He returned to Deaton’s office and considered the state of affairs. He just _really_ wanted to watch Breaking Bad. Why did everyone have to make that so difficult? Could he just leave Derek there? Stiles glanced at his watch, then groaned. It was already one. Deaton would be in in five hours to start the actual day. And who knew when Scott would be awake? Stiles glared spitefully at Derek. If the werewolf was going to make him drag him out of the building and into his Jeep, the least he could have done was follow through on that blowjob he’d been so close to giving him. Stiles propped open the doors to the front, squared his shoulders, and wheezing, dragged the hundred-something pounds of drugged, sleeping muscle out of the office. He’d gotten the poor wolf high, the least he could do was get him home.

\------

Stiles was on his second cup of coffee (though he was no stranger to all nighters) when Deaton arrived, and was scarfing down some Oreos by the time Scott woke up at about 7:30. Stiles and Deaton had noticed some restlessness in his sleep movements through the live feed, and Stiles had texted Allison. Then he had been there at the door when Scott’s eyes fought their way open. Stiles watched him warily as he sat up, looking groggy, and scrubbed his eyes a few times.

“Scott?” he asked. Scott slowly turned his head to face Stiles, looking puzzled. “You all right buddy?” Scott look puzzled. His nostrils flared and he sniffed loudly. Panic filled Stiles. He was _not_ getting sexually assaulted by two werewolves in one night. But Scott just continued to sniff.

“I can’t smell anything,” he said.

“Well good morning to you too,” Stiles muttered. “Can you hear?”

“What do you mean can I- oh my god, Stiles!” Scott’s face was filled with panic. “Stiles I can’t-”

“Scott, calm down,” Stiles said soothingly, approaching Scott, who had scrambled to his feet. “Relax.” He glanced at the camera in the wall, whose red recording light was still glowing, thankfully. “Can you change for me?” he asked his friend gently. Scott looked terrified, and his eyes bulged in his face as he attempted to turn wolf.

“Stiles what if I- what if already-” Scott began, but he couldn’t even imagine it. Stiles, for the first time, wondered if this was truly what Scott wanted.

“Hey, relax. You’ll be fine in a couple of hours.” Stiles soothed him, gripping his shoulder comfortingly.

“How do you know?” Scott demanded. Stiles winced.

“Er... The book. The book says it doesn’t _cure_ lycanthropy just...” Stiles was still trying to figure out what to say when someone knocked loudly on the door. Without waiting, Allison slammed into the room. With one look at Scott, she hurried over, nudged Stiles aside, and gathered Scott into her arms. Stiles sighed as he became the third wheel _yet again_. He stepped aside, blocking out Allison and Scott’s murmuring.

“Come to Deaton’s office when you can.” Stiles returned to the office, gathering up his things. Allison was to keep a detailed watch on Scott for the next several hours and let them know how things went. Stiles was going to sleep. He had shouldered his backpack when the lovebirds arrived, Allison’s arm supportively around Scott’s waist.

“My hearing’s improving already,” Scott told him, sounding relieved. Stiles nodded.

“When you feel up to it, do some reflex tests. Jumping and stuff. But don’t press yourself. And call me if you need me.” At this, Allison nodded.

“We’ll see you tonight for dinner?” She asked. Stiles nodded. Allison and Scott left through the front door and Stiles through the back, covering a yawn as he reached his Jeep. He opened the back door to throw his bag in and bit back a yelp, having forgotten that he’d dragged Derek into his backseat. The werewolf was still snoring loudly, and Stiles sighed. He put the bag on the floor and got into the driver’s seat. Instead of turning towards home, he headed towards the Hale House.

As he drove, he checked constantly in his rearview, noticing Derek shifting more and more, like Scott had. Pulling into the long driveway to the Hale House though, when he looked in the mirror he saw a pair of furious looking red eyes staring back at him. Stiles yelped and jerked the wheel, barely managing to stay on the road.

“Just wait until I’ve parked to kill me okay?” he blurted out, putting more pressure on the gas. Derek bared his teeth, which were anticlimactically flat and human. Stiles parked in front of the decrepit old mansion, hands white knuckled on the steering wheel. “Run free, little wolf,” Stiles encouraged him, anxious for the killer in his back seat to get a move on. Derek threw the drive’door open and Stiles winced, then again as Derek shut it loudly. Before he could move away though, Derek yanked _his_ door open. “Please don’t hurt me!” He begged shrilly. Derek’s hand curled into Stiles’ shirt and jerked him out of the Jeep. “It wasn’t intentional I swear!”

Derek pressed him against the side of his own car. Stiles was on the tips of his toes, as Derek was holding him slightly above his own height, and Derek’s thigh was pressed in between Stiles’ own legs. Stiles swallowed hard. “That’s twice Stilinski,” he growled.

“You know, I think I’m the one who’s got a right to be indignant,” he protested, his hands locked around Derek’s wrist. “It’s not like I sexually assaulted _you_!” he added pointedly. To his surprise, Derek laughed, shaking his head. “What?”

Stiles’ feet touched the ground and he relaxed his hold on Derek’s arm. Derek didn’t move away from him though, and Stiles remarked dazedly how much contact was being made. “Are you going to put Allison in the room with Scott next time?” Derek wanted to know. “Try to figure this all out scientifically?” Stiles swallowed.

“Well I certainly wasn’t going to put myself in there,” he muttered. Derek released his shirt, but then his face moved in, his nose pushing against Stiles’ Adam’s Apple. Stiles swallowed and turned his face up to the grey morning light. “Can you smell it?” he asked hoarsely. He felt Derek’s breath wash over his throat, in and out.

“Only a little. It’s starting to come back.” Stiles flinched as moisture met his skin, followed by the graze of teeth on his collarbone.

“Derek,” he breathed, gripping Derek’s shoulders.

“I never would have considered this,” Derek admitted, in an absurdly calm voice. “I don’t like being drugged, but it really does change the way you see some things.” He went on. Without warning, Derek slid his left hand under Stiles’ shirt, tracing his fingers up Stiles’ skin.

“Derek,” Stiles repeatedly dumbly. Then Derek shifted consciously, purposefully, bringing his leg up against the crotch of Stiles’ jeans. The human gasped, his hand sliding into Derek’s hair and fisting there. “Please, I don’t-”

Stiles’ phone rang. Derek backed away, standing there, watching him. Stiles fumbled for the device in his jacket pocket and put it to his ear.

“’Lo?”

“Hey, it’s me.” It was Scott. “I can do claws and teeth now. And I’d say senses are at about sixty percent.” Stiles checked his watch.

“That’s forty minutes. Good. Why don’t you um...” His eyes flicked up from the ground to Derek’s eyes. “Why don’t you just write down an update every forty minutes then? Or twenty if it’s more relevant, and we can look it over tonight.”

“Yeah, that sounds better than calling you all day. I’ll let you get some sleep,” Scott laughed. Stiles chuckled weakly.

“Thanks man. I’ll see you tonight.”

“See ya.” Scott’s line clicked. Stiles glanced up at Derek, who had his arms folded over his chest. They stared at each other for a long minute.

“God damn it, Derek, if this isn’t like trying to figure out what a tree is thinking,” he grumbled. “I’ll see you later. Probably not. Whatever. Bye.” Stiles swung around and got into his car. He cringed when he heard Derek laugh and turn on his heel, heading into his house.

\-------

Needless to say, Stiles’ sleep schedule was totally fucked. He’d slept most of the morning, played video games for most of the afternoon, nearly slept through his dinner with Allison and Scott (he made it at the last minute) and was now wired on the famous Beaconburger Triple Chocolate Beaconshake. The moon was waning that night. Stiles, Deaton and Scott had decided to take the weekend off for testing the wolf-sleeper. Stiles knew he would have to talk to Allison about participating in the next test, though he didn’t necessarily want to have the cameras trained on the whole thing.

Stiles kicked off his jeans and climbed into bed with his laptop, intending to attempt to fall asleep to Breaking Bad. By two AM though, he realized that wasn’t going to happen. Stiles slipped out of bed and went to the toilet, glaring at himself sleepily in the mirror. Then he sullenly returned to his bedroom. This was all Scott’s fault anyway.

Should he have been surprised to see Derek at his window? Probably not. Was he? Of course. “What the hell are you doing here?” Stiles hissed as he closed the door tightly, worrying his dad might hear. Derek didn’t answer, just calmly finished climbing through the open window and into Stiles’ room. Stiles’ breath caught.

“Do you have any of it here?” Derek asked, moving towards him almost aimlessly. It was clear he meant the drug. Stiles shook his head.

“It’s all at the lab,” he said, his voice cracking on the last syllable. Derek stood in front of him, hands hanging loosely at his sides.

“I’m not going to fall asleep this time,” he murmured, and the thickness of his voice made drums go off in Stiles’ stomach.

“Oh,” he said stupidly. Derek leaned in. Stiles felt his hand closing around his side, fingers smoothing up his rib cage. He pressed his nose to Stiles’ neck and inhaled deeply. “What if my father comes up?” Stiles blurted out. If this was really going to happen, Stiles wasn’t sure this was the best place for it. Wow. Derek’s hips, and everything in between, touched his. This _was_ really going to happen.

“I’ll be quiet,” Derek murmured, his hot breath freezing Stiles’ skin. There was a pause, of Derek just inhaling the smell of Stiles’ skin.

“Do you think its an associative thing?” Stiles wondered. “Since every time you’ve smelled the drug you’ve smelled me?”

“Look if I’m going to be quiet, you’re going to have to too,” Derek muttered, and at last he pulled away and looked Stiles in the eye. Stiles swallowed. Then Derek bent forward and kissed him. Stiles’ mouth opened stupidly, as if he were going to say something. Derek had one hand reaching under his shirt, gently touching the skin of his torso, and the other had curled over his hip, hand firm over the thin cloth of his boxers. But Stiles paid no attention to Derek’s hands as the werewolf gently pressed his tongue into Stiles’ mouth. So maybe Stiles hadn’t kissed all that many people in his life, but something about the odd levity of the situation, of Derek’s hard five-o-clock shadow scratching his chin, of the huge werewolf not shoving him away as he tightened his arms around his neck... It was the sweetest kiss he’d ever known.

Derek lost no time. He backed Stiles towards his own bed and toppled the human onto it. Stiles flailed as he fell backwards, scrabbling at Derek’s shirt. Derek pulled himself away long enough to yank it over his head. His thick black hair mussed and Stiles was mesmerized by his magazine-cover chest. Who even allowed that? Their legs were tangled and Derek grabbed at Stiles’ own shirt, his hands no-nonsense, and he lifted it from Stiles’ body.

“You finally gonna give me that blow job you’ve been teasing me about?” Stiles croaked out.

“You finally going to shut the fuck up?” Derek replied waspishly. He actually lifted Stiles up and threw him further back on the bed, reaching down and yanking off Stiles’ boxers without further ado, leaving Stiles naked and staring up at him in wonder. A shiver cracked down his spine.

“You sure you didn’t get high at the lab before coming here?” Stiles asked, too amazed to be embarrassed. Derek met his eyes, and Stiles felt like he had swallowed his tongue. It was like seeing something you saw everyday, but like you’d never seen it before.

“Do you want the blow job or not?” Derek asked.

“Well it’s not going to suck itself,” Stiles replied breathlessly.

“I’m going to make you regret that,” Derek threatened, grabbing Stiles’ thighs and yanking him closer. He knelt on the floor beside the bed and pressed his lips to Stiles’ abdomen. Stiles sucked in a breath and forced himself upwards, leaning back on his hands so he could watch with huge eyes. Derek shifted and his breath wafted up the skin of Stiles’ cock. His shoulders tensed. At last, Derek slowly lifted his eyes up to meet Stiles’ and sucked the head of Stiles’ dick into his mouth. Stiles thought he would lose it right there, as a smile chipped at the edges of Derek’s mouth.

He heard his breathing speed up and he gasped as Derek sank forward, enveloping his whole length in the wet warmth. “Derek,” he pleaded, one hand lifting to grip in Derek’s hair. Nobody had ever done this for him before. It was more than he’d ever imagined.

Derek had left the window open. Even though it was mid-summer, Stiles was freezing, skin ice cold, chills racing up and down his limbs. His arms trembled and he felt like his heart would leap out of his chest. His eyes fluttered shut, even as he tried to take in everything before him. He was flying, flying high. With a surprised grunt, Stiles finished, breathing hard. His eyes flew open to see Derek pulling away, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Oh,” Stiles breathed. Derek smiled wryly. Stiles was still shaking.

“That’s what you get for drugging people,” Derek murmured, wiping the back of his wrist over his mouth.

“Well you’ve sure taught me my lesson,” Stiles muttered, flopping onto his back and staring cross-eyed at the ceiling. “I won’t try to keep a grown man like you sober.” _Not if it’s gonna end like this_. He heard a clinking sound and raised his head enough to see Derek pulling off his belt, and swallowed hard.

“It’s all right man, I don’t think I need it.” Derek said easily, his jeans falling to the floor. He climbed smoothly on top of Stiles and lowered his head to Stiles’ neck. “But you might be the sweetest dealer I’ve ever known.”


End file.
